


Uncanny Valley

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: Torna: The Golden Country DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 22:45:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16105340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: A familiar face appears in Fonsa Myma, empty and unsettling.





	Uncanny Valley

**Author's Note:**

> timeline's shaky cuz lol 500 yrs, but my assumption is that Amalthus resonated with Haze as soon as he was able to but didn't reveal her to the public until he established Indol as a nation of neutrality and peace.

Just one year after the Aegis War, it becomes illegal to be in possession of a Blade without registering with the Indoline Praetorium.

Ten years later, people stop questioning it.

Twenty years go by and hardly anyone speaks of Malos.

Fifty years erases the truth about Torna’s death and the tragedy of Spessia.

History is easy to dilute with enough widespread censorship. Nobody recognizes the Goddess of the Praetorium or her legendary ability to subdue Blades when she unexpectedly emerges in the public eye. Surely it must have been the will of the Architect himself, to grant this special Blade to the Praetor.

Fan la Norne is an amicable woman and the Praetor is simply acting as a Praetor should, so no one ever doubts them.

 

* * *

 

His body is decaying but Minoth had long since come to accept his fate of slowly rotting from the inside out until death. Dying is a very human thing. With that, he would be more human than he could ever be, so it doesn’t seem like the worst fate to fall upon.

There are worse things that could happen. Far, far worse things.

Across from him, Fan la Norne serenely enjoys her tea as she watches people mill about among the shops and stalls. Every fiber of his being is tensed up and nervous, screaming inside. Something in his ears rings.

He had known who the Goddess of the Praetorium truly was from the very start despite never seeing her in person, more than a century ago, but he’d simply resigned himself to his own insignificance. What power did he hold in these deteriorating imitations of flesh and bone? But now it’s a hell of a lot different when the real deal is sitting right before his eyes, looking exactly as she did five hundred years past.

Almost exactly as she did.

It's not quite fear that makes his hands cold.

“It’s a lovely city,” Haze says, as if she’s just reaching a conclusion. She gives Cole a bland little smile.

“How long are you planning on staying?”

“That depends on how His Eminence’s negotiations with Queen Raqura go.”

“Must be a big deal, if he came all the way down from Indol in person,” Minoth says, trying to keep his voice steady. The Indoline Monks that had arrived with them all followed Amalthus up to the palace. Fan la Norne had been left to her own devices, to enjoy a brief respite in Fonsa Myma. The first thing she did was go watch a play. She liked it. Then she wanted to speak to the playwright.

So here they are, having drinks and _chatting_ like nothing’s wrong.

“Queen Raqura is requesting more Core Crystals than what would be considered a… reasonable amount,” Fan carefully says. “But there are enough issues present with the abundance of unregistered Drivers from mercenary groups being contracted by the Urayan military. You must understand if His Eminence has his reservations about coming to an agreement on her terms. Coming here himself is a gesture of his good will.”

Of course. Amalthus doesn’t like it when things are beyond his control. Minoth curls his lip in contempt, hiding it behind his cup.

“Oh, but I don’t mean to bore you with talk of politics. Please, tell me more about your work, Mister Cole.”

“Just Cole’s fine. Not a big fan of formalities.”

“Very well.” Haze smiles. Her expression is still missing something that used to be there a long time ago.

“I took a lot of inspiration from my days as a mercenary,” Cole says, all too keenly aware of how hoarse and dry his voice is. “That was years back, before my body began to give out on me. Heh, can you see these wrinkles on my face?”

“If only you were a Blade, hm?” Fan lightly chuckles.

“Mmmh. Yeah.” A bead of sweat rolls down Minoth’s temple, and he silently prays for her to just leave, so that he doesn’t have to look at that bland, empty smile any longer. His skin crawls with unpleasant feelings, like insects squirm just beneath the first layer.

He wants to ask. He shouldn’t. He needs to. He can’t. Minoth grips his cup so tightly it might crack if he had a fraction of the strength he used to have in his prime.

“What’s it like, being his Blade?”

Haze’s smile widens until the corners of her eyes crinkle. “It’s wonderful.”

Wrong.

“His Eminence is so kind and generous.”

Wrong.

“I’ve been blessed by the Architect, to be bonded to him.”

Wrong.

“Being able to use my powers to aid the Praetorium is such a privilege.”

Minoth’s drink suddenly tastes far too bitter. His hands are trembling. Deep breath. One, two. One, two. Into the nose, through the mouth. Again. His skin won't stop crawling.

He won’t be like _him._ He won’t allow himself to feel the same kind of rage and despair that his Driver did even if it means smiling back at Haze and doing nothing, because they’re complete strangers and she would never accept the truth as she is now. This isn’t Haze. It’s just a puppet that’s been named _Fan la Norne, Goddess of the Praetorium._

These centuries had done well to temper his hatred. It was one of the very first realizations that Minoth had come to— that hatred belonged solely to himself, and no one else, but it made him no better than the monster he loathed. So he did his best to shed it, keeping his head low and out of sight while Amalthus used the might of Indol to reshape Alrest.

Living a quiet life in Fonsa Myma hasn’t been so bad. The years spent with Vandham and the mercenaries was even better. It made it easy to nearly forget about it all.

Cole wouldn’t consider himself to be a pessimist. Minoth thought he was more of a realist.

“Good for you,” he manages to croak out. “Yeah, good for you…”

“I’m very lucky, indeed!”

That old hatred burns up in a new flare, threatening to spill over. Minoth swallows it back. He’s _old_ now, and the defects of his Flesh Eater body are getting worse by the day. There’s nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing.

“Listen— it was real nice chatting with you, but I should get back to the Playhouse before the next showing begins.”

“Oh, of course! May I accompany you? I’d love to see that play again.”

Of course she would. The story is adapted from one of the scripts Minoth had drafted during their travels together. It was Haze’s favorite—  _The Knight of Torna_ , now renamed and re-adapted so that it would not catch the attention of any shrewd historians or Amalthus himself.

Cole weakly nods, all the tension leaving his weakened body at once in a defeated sag.

“Sure, and consider the next tickets on the house. Just for you, Goddess of the Praetorium.”

“Really? You’re far too generous, Cole. I couldn’t possibly accept that.”

“Please, I just wanna show my… gratitude, for all you do with Indol.”

“If you insist, I can’t refuse such a kind offer!”

He pays for their drinks and she protests to that, but they’re shortly on their way back to the Playhouse. Fan la Norne cheerfully prattles on about the play while Minoth fights back the bile rising in his throat. Walking up the stairs leaves him winded. The inside of his throat burns with every breath he takes, and the thing inside his chest meant to be a heart thrums with something far too heavy for him to bear.

He glances at her from the corners of his eyes. Everything about her looks the same, but it's _not._

No one else would realize that her Core Crystal isn’t meant to be shaped like that. He understands all too well of the implications of that missing half, which only confirms his powerlessness.

There’s nothing he can do.

“Perhaps I could bring His Eminence to a show, if all goes well with the Queen,” Haze ponders.

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind meeting him,” Minoth lies through his teeth, fists trembling with the futility of helplessness once more.


End file.
